


submerging ashes town

by mido



Series: setting suns [1]
Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:38:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9440792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mido/pseuds/mido
Summary: "Can you hear me? / My red umbrella and I are waiting for you."- Kurahashi Yoeko, Rainy Day





	

It takes approximately a week for him to realize Ren isn’t coming back. 

The first couple days are bearable, to say the least, because he has Koujaku to satisfy himself when his thought process gets too out of hand. That isn’t to say he’s distracting himself with the other-- he’d never ever pass his beloved off as such-- but a byproduct of their time together is letting Ren slip from his mind, even if it’s just temporary. Even in the bestial state he’s in, Koujaku still manages to sense something is different, and his fangs don’t dig as deep into the crook of his neck when he tilts his head to the side, which vexes him; he’s acting the same, he’s acting the way he always does, so why isn’t Koujaku? He places a hand on his lover’s head, and the other lets himself be eased deeper into his skin.

He visits his brother that day, or, his brother and Sei, seeing as how it was impossible to catch either of them apart. Sei pretends not to listen while he spews out his irritation at Koujaku’s uncharacteristic behavior to the other, but it’s clear he’s formulating his own opinion of the situation as his beloved rests their head on top of his. 

He leaves the room feeling the effect of emotional release, but even more miffed that their only response was “he’s your toy, not mine,” before returning to grooming Sei’s thin hair.

The third day is the beginning of his descent. Sure, it’s only been three days, but before all of this, before Rhyme and Platinum Jail, whenever Ren disappeared he would return shortly after the next day. Maybe he’d gotten fed up and left for good? Impossible, he reminds himself, he’d get trampled out there without Aoba and him to care for him-- his vessel is a small dog, not a human like theirs is. 

After Ren had first left their head, transferring his conscience to the broken Allmate, it was much less suffocating than before. The other had probably dismissed it as a terrible decision during their days as Sly Blue, and he took pride in the fact that he could no longer influence what Aoba or himself did, no matter how “direct” or “indirect” he’d seemed to think it was originally. It was also quite laughable, his form then; skittering around on short furry legs with a pink tongue sticking out of his mouth, tail wagging involuntarily every time they looked his way. He curses himself for thinking about that then, and on his way to a meeting nonetheless. Slapping his cheeks lightly, he tosses a lock of pale hair over his shoulder and strides down the hallway, white robes billowing behind him as his boots clack against the polished tile. Reminiscing would get him nowhere. 

The gist of the lecture Toue had forced him to attend was concerning the virus, the one that he thought to blame for Ren’s sudden departure. One of the numerous scientists that reside within Oval Tower explains how an alpha had got infected, but the safety procedure they’d installed a week before had kicked in and shut down its processor before any mutiny could occur. He fiddles with one of his earrings as they continue, speaking with a bit more passion than during their weekly progress reports, about how they’d drawn up a prototypical “serum” for a cure; they make air-quotes around the word _serum_. Toue pipes up from his usual sated silence then, prompting them to let those gathered at the long conference table know the progress they’ve made with the vessel. The scientist blinks as if not realizing what their boss is referring to, and he laughs inwardly as he sees the point in time that they make the connection between what they’d been calling it and what Toue’s name for it was. They scramble to skim through the folders they’ve brought with them, and he tunes out once they find the one they were seeking, already bored. He can vaguely hear them discussing the synthecation of bodily systems, and explaining that the toughest part was getting the skin to function as an organ as it had originally, unlike how the alphas’ did, et cetera; he doesn’t consciously process any of it. He closes his eyes for a moment, and doesn’t flinch at the image scarring the backs of his eyelids.

The fourth day is when he locks himself inside the luxurious room Toue had allowed him to furnish as he liked; his hideaway. He passes both it and the fifth day in there, sleeping for half the time and curled up pretending to for the rest. His brother stops by at one point, knocking firmly until they realize they aren’t going to get a response. He wakes to a plate of doughnuts (nothing like Tae’s, they’re shaped in rings) in front of his door, which happens to be cracked slightly. He slams it shut the instant he sees it, locking the automatic sensor with a new passcode and sliding down to the floor whilst leaning against it. The other always manages to either deduce or guess (dumb luck or intuition, he doesn’t know) his combinations, and though he’s usually delighted by their mental capability, right now it serves now purpose except to piss him off.

So he crawls back to bed, clutching the plate of doughnuts in his hands and setting them down on the nightstand where a lamp is situated, switched off. The room is completely dark sans the bluish lights making digital signal snakes across the ceiling, no doubt sending video and audio information to the various control rooms scattered throughout Oval Tower. Yet he finds comfort in that glow, illuminating the folds of the covers like glinting silver, like a small syringe filled with cyan-blue liquid tightened around a throat--

He starts, and buries his face in his pillow. He can feel Aoba lurking by the edges of their mind, and almost feels him open his mouth to say something before he blocks him out again. He wonders if Koujaku’s been lonely without him the past couple days, and he feels a pang of guilt for abandoning his beloved so abruptly. He wonders if Toue took this chance to rid the tower of him, and though the thought alone makes him want to cry, he doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to see anyone right now, not even Koujaku, lovely, infatuatingly vicious Koujaku.

Since he’d spent most of the yesterday actually sleeping instead of being left alone with his thoughts in bed, he doesn’t nap much today. He stays curled up, covered up with linen bedsheets and a pillow that smells of bleach below his head, the motherboard-esque lights on the ceiling pulsing with every breath he takes, his thoughts scaring both him and Aoba more than he knew they could.

The duration of the sixth day is still spent locked away inside, but instead of sleeping and halfheartedly munching on the snacks his brother had brought him, he takes to praying. He’s never been particularly religious, and he hates the idea of him not having control of his life, of some higher power controlling everything like some sort of game; it makes him sick. Yet here he is, kneeling on the cool linoleum of his room and clasping his hands together like a nun as he closes his eyes and forces himself to bring Ren to mind again, desperately speaking out in his mind for someone to return the other to him. When the only response he gets is Aoba’s silent, melancholic gaze, he snaps his eyes open angrily and clenches one of his hands into a fist, throwing it at the wall in a fit of rage. How dare he _pity_ me, he thinks, how dare _he_ pity me. 

He retreats back to bed bitterly, pissed at himself for ever thinking he’d get some sort of response other than Aoba’s pitiful words left unspoken, pissed at himself for ever thinking there was a way to bring Ren back.

The seventh day is when he finally drags himself outside again only to find he doesn’t have any place he specifically wants to go. He stands like a dimwit outside his door for a solid minute or two, just grasping at straws for where he could travel to within the tower other than his room; during this period of time one of the alphas happens across him, stopping and watching him quizzically. “Aoba-sama?” It asks in that grossly mechanical voice of its, though it doesn’t forget the honorific he’d once thrown a fit over (not being called it, that is).

He seems to at least half snap back to reality then, meeting the alpha’s confused yet guarded gaze. “Yes?” He replies in the most characteristic voice he can muster-- half sugar, half sour, a hint of sexuality-- but it doesn’t look to phase the robot. “Master Toue has said to retrieve you for your meeting, seeing as how you missed the last two.” It says suspiciously, and he allows himself to miss the stabbing undertone of rudeness in its voice. 

“Ah, of course.” He smiles, utterly plastic. “I do love an escort.”

The daily check-ins with Toue (or meetings, as he seems to phrase it) are rather boring for the most part, and despite his knowledge of the other’s usual schedule he still seems irritated at his past absences. “You have a duty to me as my subordinate to attend.” He reminds him coldly, to which the paler of the two glares, flouncing down in an ergonomically polished chair. Soon a scientist, different than the one they’d heard from earlier that week, walks in, clutching a clipboard to their chest and quickly pulling up their presentation on their Coil and projecting it to the wall. They begin to speak of advancements in the alphas’ programming, such as perfecting the “serum” they’d mentioned last time and installing it in a test group for a trial to smooth out any bugs flying under the radar. On the wall they pull up a snippet of the serum’s code, and explain in what ways it combats the virus. 

He’s about to tune out when the scientist switches topics to what he remembers Toue had dubbed “the vessel” last time he attended. This one seems more prepared than the person who’d been speaking when he’d first heard of it, and they transition to a 3D mockup of what the vessel will look like by completion; his mouth nearly drops open. 

The image they’ve pulled up on the screen is identical (at least, he thinks) to Ren’s Rhyme form, sans his cloak and the covering he’d worn over his eyes. His tattoos have also been dismissed, but there’s no denying that the body pulled up before them is Ren; he could tell from a mile away. Once all of this processes in his brain he bites his lip to keep from shooting up out of his seat, and interjects a question to the speaker; “What might this ‘vessel’ be for?”

The scientist blinks at the sudden interest, and he advances to the next slide. “The canine Allmate that was once in your possession, it seems to have been more than an ordinary companion.” They explain. “Though Allmates have been coded to develop emotions along with a thought process without utter breakdown of its systems-- so as to make them more appealing to their users-- this one’s conscience, which is usually encoded during production, is missing. From its sudden startup with the proper maintenance we can deduce that it received one from the Internet, though there are no Allmate-compatible AIs released there. Therefore, we must assume it was given one from a human being.”

“So you’re planning to upload this ‘human conscience’ into the vessel?” He asks, wondering if he’s hearing right. How could Toue’s scientists, of all people, figure out Ren’s existence? They didn’t know him. They didn’t know Aoba. They didn’t know about Reason, Restraint and Desire. They didn’t know anything.   
The scientist, unaware of his inner turmoil, nods. “All bodily systems have been progressing smoothly with minor difficulties. Personally, I can assume it’ll be prepared to begin usual brain activity in about… a day or two? That is, of course, if the conscience is transferred with minimum strain, which may be impossible for all we know at this point; however--”

“Take me to him.” He interrupts quietly.

They stop their explanation easily, peering at the other in curiosity. “Aoba-sama, I’m sure you are interested in seeing your Allmate again, but he’ll still be out of commission for three days, at the least--”

“I don’t care. Take me to him.” He demands, fists clenching at his sides as he swivels his head to Toue. “Any objections?” He snaps. 

Said man sighs in resignation at the other’s stubbornness, and from behind his monocle he looks to grow another wrinkle. He waves his hand in the air to the scientist as a gesture of defeat, and they nod, motioning for the white-robed male to follow, who does so with quick steps. They exit the long conference room; the other has to speed-walk to keep up with him and lead him in the correct direction. They head towards the elevator, and with a swipe of their keycard they ascend to medical wing. He can barely hold back his emotions as he strides along beside the scientist-- he’s going to see Ren again, he’s going to see _Ren_ again-- what is he doing, being so eager like this?-- Aoba’s probably laughing at him, ridiculing his vulnerability towards the other-- so he walks a little faster than he was already. 

It’s past the now empty operating room, through the general post-op ward, and into the private rooms that he walks, looking from left to right as he hurries past each window and door, only stopping once he comes across a bed containing a body of muscular build, topped by a head of familiar navy hair. He presses his palm to the scanner beside the door handle and steps inside as soon as it registers his identity. 

And all of a sudden there’s Ren, blissfully unconscious (though why wouldn’t he be, he isn’t even inhabiting this body yet) with his eyelids concealing bright golden irises he’d give anything to see again, looking in his direction. A heart monitor on the wall beeps periodically with the vessel’s heartbeat, one that isn’t even being used yet, but he doesn’t bother to ponder the reason it’s living and Ren is not. An IV sticks out of the vein at the crook of his elbow, slowly dripping translucent fluid into his blood. Other than that he looks utterly healthy, so much startlingly so that it looks like it could open his eyes at any moment and he would have Ren lying before him-- it’s terrifying. Tentatively, almost fearfully, he places a pale hand on its bicep, only to find it’s warm. It’s nearly enough to make him cry-- of course, he’d never do that before Aoba; he’s hasn’t lost that much pride. But it’s close. 

He leans down and rests his forehead on its shoulder, and bites his lip to keep any tears from slipping from his eyes. Soon this body will harbor Ren in all his objective, logical glory, with his few and far between moments of humor and his caring, loving personality. Soon this body will harbor Restraint, the one he’d thought he’d hated only to have found he couldn’t live without. “Welcome home, Ren.” He mumbles. “Welcome home.” He whispers. He doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t frown.

Somewhere else, someone stirs from a long, long slumber.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah this is gonna be a series


End file.
